The Scars that Made Me
by Raven The Dark Angel
Summary: Anders confides in Hawke about his painful past when he heals a man he hasn't seen in years. However with each account confessed, his resolve slowly crumbles to the point that he isn't sure he can keep holding back the passion he feels for his most sacred friend. (takes place during Act 2)
1. Chapter 1

_disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware._

_a/n: This story isn't going to just focus on Anders and Hawke's relationship but rather take a look into some of Anders's past so be prepared for lots of flashbacks. Please excuse my rusty writing, as I haven't written in at least five years. I hope you enjoy it regardless._

* * *

**The Scars that Made Me**

**Chapter 1**

No! No! It was all wrong! Anders struck the quill across the parchment, crossing out all that he'd written. A puff of air expelled from his lungs as he slumped his forehead against the cool wood of the desk. Why couldn't the words come? He'd so much to say! Anders snapped his head up and stared at the taunting blank pages. How could this be? He'd ranted to almost everyone he could, trying to get anyone who'd offer him an ear to listen to the message he tried so hard to convey. Poetry had spilt from his mouth before! So why couldn't he just make sense of it all now? Why couldn't he just write down that passion? Anders crumpled the top page and struck it against the wall and watched it pathetically drip to the floor. Perhaps... it just mattered too much. _Lives _rode on those words.

Anders swung to a stand, flinging his chair back. He ripped a hand through his hair, banishing the tie and held his head as he paced back and forth through what he thought was his empty clinic. He didn't even notice the man hovering in the doorway until Anders tossed the stack of papers straight up into the air.

"Perhaps I'm not in the right place." the man spoke and turned to walk away.

Anders dragged the hand on his forehead down his face as the pieces of his manifesto floated to the floor, trying to smooth away the mortification. Yes that's right... today had been far too uneventful that he almost entirely forgot the lanterns outside were still lit.

"Wait!" Anders called, scrambling to gather the mess, finding himself with an armful of papers, "I apologize! Sometimes my work carries me away. Can I help you?" he fumbled the words and plastered on a smile.

The man turned around and the welcoming charm melted off the healer's face. Anders spun, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to conceal the flash of blue. No...He sucked in a breath. He froze. No he had to keep it together. Breathe. He kept his back to the man and cranked his elbows forward, placing the document onto a cot. He tapped the papers straight and swallowed. His mind must be playing tricks on him, surely.

Anders faced the man once again. No trick. The mask of old age upon him did little to lead Anders's memory astray. He clearly remembered that same beard that outlined the bottom half of his face and the way he parted his long blond hair. Familiar amber eyes stared back into his. Would he recognize him? No... how foolish. It'd been too much time since then, and he'd been far too young.

"This is the clinic?" the elder questioned, venturing forward and glanced around the little hovel. "The name's Sabin. Messere Hawke sent me. Said ye could patch me up."

"I can," he affirmed, folding his arms across his chest, yet took no step forward to to do so. Just how did he know Hawke? Regardless, with luck he could simply heal the man and watch him walk right out the door and back out of his life for good. No need to cause any unnecessary drama. Anders snorted. Funny to see this one coming to a mage though. He wondered if he knew the Healer of Darktown utilized accursed magic.

"I don't have much money-"

Anders held a hand up. "No need. Its free. The only catch is that it's magic." He tried his best not to spit the next sentence. "Is that okay with someone like you?"

Confusion peppered across the man's brow and it was then Anders noticed the bruising across his cheekbone. Had he been in a fight? He'd a mind to punch him in the face himself. His fingers twitched.

"Don't think I can really refuse," he replied, "Messere Hawke insisted I come here and I ain't really in a position to disobey her orders right now."

"Just stay still," Anders instructed, snatching away the gap between them and hovered his hands over the swelling. Within a few seconds the hot glow of his powers emancipated from him, mending and resculpting the tissue and muscles.

"Good as new," the mage announced flatly when finished and stared upon the man's face. Just what would he say?

"Thank you," the patient mumbled as tired eyes traced the doctor's clenched jaw and stoney expression.

Anders exhaled his lungs. Perhaps he shouldn't have expected a confrontation. Perhaps he should not have expected anything at all. He stood blankly, watching him leave and close the door as if nothing were any different at all. And well nothing had been. He glanced down picking up the few donated coppers, toying with the feel of the smooth metal between his fingers and took a seat at his desk. So why was it that it bothered him so much. Why did he want to be recognized?

Perhaps a small part of him wasn't over everything that had happened like he'd thought. Maybe it did still bother him; that no matter how hard he tried to push it from his mind he just couldn't get over what he did...and the fear in the man's eyes... all of the fear from all their damned accusing eyes.

Anders shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he twisted the quill between his fingers over the ever empty parchment. No... he wasn't over it. He wasn't over it at all.

"Don't tell me you're about to write me a nasty complaint letter," Hawke quipped, slipping in the doorway. Her bright smile continued to shine, melting away some of his gloomy atmosphere. "I want to apologize for sending you trouble. Hubert was a little too enthusiastic questioning the workers over missing shipment and I just wanted to make sure I didn't send my men home any worse for wear."

"No problem. Always happy to help. Although perhaps I should be jealous. It seems I'm not the only one you're too good to," Anders commented as she provided him with a loaf of bread and a container of stew that staked it's claim upon the desk. He obediently took the spoon she offered and his fingers pressed onto the sides of the still warm container as he opened it. He'd long relinquished defeat to her charity and looked forward to her regular visits to his clinic. Driving her away didn't seem an option, whether it was her stubborn will or the fact he took secret pleasure in the way she smiled as he hungrily dived his spoon into whatever she'd offer.

He'd devour anything of hers.

Pink adorned her cheeks just as readily as if he said the words. Maker forgive him he needed it. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as she adverted her gaze and Anders wondered what it was that his eyes spoke of that he could not.

"It's nothing special. You know they're only leftovers."

"Sweetheart, you could feed me dog food and I'd be a happy man," he declared with a smirk and popped the spoon in his mouth. His eyes closed, savoring the taste.

His hair trickled forward, nearly dipping into the stew and Anders's breath hitched at the feel of her fingers caressing the strands away. The bare digits traced the back of his ear as she tucked the tresses into place, eliciting a shudder down his spine that pooled deep in his stomach. Hawke's skin against _his_ skin...her touching _him_... it was all too much yet so not enough. He dared not make eye contact and shifted, feeling his pants tighten around him, cursing the fact that he was getting excited over something so simplistic. He really needed to compose himself and struggled to swallow the potato lodged in his throat.

"I know something's bothering you, Anders," she began and sat down on the chair nearby. "What's wrong? Is it the manifesto?"

Silence seized the air between them and he peered down at his meal, contemplating using the excuse she so readily offered. It's not like it'd be a total lie. There wasn't really a point to pursue the matter any further. The man he healed was just another patient like everyone else. It was best he kept it that way. So why couldn't he help the question from spilling from his mouth? "The one you sent here earlier, is he from Ferelden?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Aren't they all?"

"Heh. I..."

"Do you know him? Please don't tell me this is another former lover. I'm starting to think you have a thing for beards and that'd be an awful shame if I had to grow one."

Anders chuckled as he set the food aside upon the desk and shuffled his chair to face in her direction. "And what if I did? How'd you go about getting one?"

"Well I could strap a cat to my face. You like those too don't you?"

"It'd be my two favorite things combined." Anders smiled, leaned forward, and rested his arms on his legs, closing the gap between them.

"Kittens and beards?" she questioned, tilting her head as he wondered the innocence of her actions. He could feel her breath tickling...tempting...

"No. Kittens and Hawkes." He corrected with a wink.

Blue eyes clutched amber. Neither no longer smiled. Her gaze flitted to his mouth and him to hers. He stared down upon those gorgeous lips that parted just so delicately and he clenched his jaw trying to fight back the urge to crush himself against her and thrust his tongue inside of her to finally taste the sweet wine of Hawke. He would smother his hands all over her... thrash her down upon one of the cots and tear open her top to drink in the lovely sight he was sure he'd find underneath all that cloth and armor and claim it all only for himself. He'd own her pleasure and impel her to tattoo his name across those lips that right now begged him ever so exquisitely to be kissed.

He quivered a sigh. Maker help him.

Anders slammed his back against his chair enough to sting which he very much intended and tore his gaze from her. Thoughts of his savage possession taunted him across closed eyes as he strained against his pants, thankful for at least the bulky fabric of his jacket that concealed his desires. He scraped his hand on his face and settled the appendage upon his forehead. What was he doing? His heart twisted, catching sight of her between the mask of his fingers, watching her wince as she clutched the fabric of her trousers. He needed to stop this. Wishing to drown himself in her, just for a moment to ease his own pains, did not justify causing hers. He'd hoped she'd have grow tired of him by now...move on. He was no special prize. Not like her. He could never offer what she so rightfully deserved. She could have a normal life. He'd only bring her misery and pain. He'd do well to get that through to her as well as himself.

"I'm sorry... I-" he struggled to fetch the words.

"It's okay Anders," she soothed, but he knew it wasn't. He needed to stop torturing them both. "Should I go?"

"No! Please! Please don't leave!" It scared him that he nearly said 'me' and he couldn't help but be utterly disgusted by the desperation in his voice. It was just another mixed signal. Stop it.

"Alright," she exhaled and rested back against the seat. "But you can at least tell me what went on with you and Sabin. I can't imagine he'd do something awful to you."

Anders snorted. "You're right. Something awful doesn't even begin to cover it." Hawke raised an eyebrow amidst the quiet and watched him twist the feather tip of the quill. He sighed. "That man is my father."

Hawke's lips parted. "What? Are you sure? I thought you were from The Anderfels."

"Originally yes," he affirmed, "I was born just right outside of Weisshaupt, but we moved to Lothering..." His brows knit together. "after..."

"After...?" she echoed.

Anders shifted in his chair and raked a hand through his hair, causing it to tumble forward again, once the fingers withdrew. He fiddled with the loose string on the hem of his shirt, contemplating telling her about everything that had happened to him. Maker knew he had bottled it all up inside him and only uttered a few instances to Karl when he was first hauled off to the Circle. But any mage had the same story. He was no different.

Anders kept his gaze turned away and clutched his hand over Hawke's. "Do you have some time?" he questioned. His grip tightened in the silence. He couldn't bring himself to make the eye contact even as he felt her gaze upon him. If anything, it made him wish to look away more. He was being shameful and he knew it. Selfish. But he just needed someone... her... Hawke... to hear him. That wasn't so awful of him, was it? This was something friends did right? And she could at least be allowed to be his friend if nothing more.

"I've got time, Anders." Hawke assured.

He released his grip from her, hesitating, hovering his hand just above. He curled his fingers into a fist and lingered for just a moment as his eyes shut and he retracted the limb along with himself back to the chair.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Although, I suppose you can probably already guess it has to do with magic."

* * *

Mother had told him to stay inside. If only he had listened...

Anders crouched down in the bushes, eyeing the soldiers that occupied the village between snow drenched leaves. Normally, only one or two passed through the main roads. None of them ever actually stayed. He couldn't understand their sudden interest and flitted his eyes between the group of men and strained to figure out what one pointed to. He could barely make out the silhouette of his neighbor's house only a foot past them in the blighted thick fog. The boy stretched out his legs, holding his breath against the cold that leaked into the thin cloth and fumbled to reach down into his pockets, wishing he snuck his coat and mittens.

The lead of the group signaled to move out and all but two followed. The remaining took their places in front of the entrances of the two houses and Anders snatched the moment to dash behind the stables. He flattened his back along the stone and stalked towards the edge, hoping he wouldn't lose sight of where they headed before the fog swallowed them.

The boy groaned. Too late.

With a huff, he tightened the tie of his ponytail and sprinted into the mist, trying to catch a glimmer of silver. Cold air chaffed his lungs at each inhale, yielding him to diminish his pace, but curiosity continued to coax him forward. Snow dropped from endless gray, and Anders slowed his pace as puffs of vapor expelled from his mouth. He glanced around, turning his body in all directions. Where did they go? Where did anything go? The boy's heart clenched, wondering what direction he'd come from and tried to at least find his own footsteps in the endless white. He heaved, realizing the fresh snow had fallen far too quickly and that the steppe did little to offer any significant landmark.

What was he going to do? The boy leaned forward and clutched his thighs. Wait. Anders hovered a hand above his brow to shield the flakes from clinging to his eyelashes and fixed his gaze upon the movement a few feet ahead. He could make out a silhouette of a man. Was that a shield he held? It must have been one of the soldiers from before! Anders sprung towards him, as his aching muscles yelped with each foot dredging through the thickening snow.

Anders slapped against the ground. The white fluff did little to cushion his fall as it shot into the air, only to float back down upon him when he struggled to regain his stolen breath. Stupid rock. His ankle screamed its certainty of injury and the boy gritted his teeth trying to blur out the pain. At least the soldier could help him now, he thought as an armored boot sunk into the flurries an inch before him. Anders straightened his arms, plucking the upper half of his body from the dirt and swung his gaze to his onlooker. His face blanched. Darkspawn.

* * *

_to be continued..._

_a/n: For those that are curious, yes Sabin is an actual character. It's not a fact that he's Anders's father of course but I figured there's so many characters in DA, why make one up when I could just borrow one since he does look somewhat like him. Anyways, stay tuned to find out more about what happens in Anders's past and how it effects the present. I hope you've enjoyed this. Please remember to review and share your thoughts. Thank you for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

_Last time: Anders begins to tell Hawke about his past and leaves off when he encounters Darkspawn as a child._

_a/n: These flashbacks were seriously kicking my butt. I hope it turned out okay in the end._

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**The Scars that Made Me**

**Chapter 2**

The Hurlock cranked open its mouth as strings of saliva blasted from the volume of its screech. The boy flinched when the moisture splattered against his face, far too scared to release his own cries and tried to fling his body upright. His legs collapsed instantly under the broken bone. Pain blurred his vision. Anders scrambled backwards, scattering snow, and dragged as much distance as he could with his arms. The Hurlock stalked forward, destroying all the boy's efforts in a single bound. His eyes widened, transfixed upon the weapon held above its head. The sword glinted, swinging down. Anders clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but the blade never connected.

Flames engulfed the monster as it flailed and gargled inhuman noises that shivered the boy's bones. The smell of burnt flesh scarred Anders's nose as he watched the Hurlock plummet to its knees. A sword burst through its chest, only to quickly retract and swing across its neck, commanding its head to fly and scatter speckles of red across the pure white. But the boy paid no heed. He gasped as his eyes attached to his arms and a chocked cry struggled from his throat. Fire licked his limbs and the heat spilled downward, devouring his sleeves. He plunged his arms into the snow to no avail. Why wouldn't it go out?! Why couldn't it stop?! Why didn't he feel any pain?!

"Calm yourself!" the soldier, holding a staff tried to soothe, "If you panic, it only makes it worse."

"I can't! I-"

Ice encased Anders's arms, only to instantly shatter, leaving behind nothing but smoke and vapor. The soldier squatted down next to him, as his white and blue striped tabard soaked up what was left of the melted snow surrounding them. His leather gloves firmly gripped the boy's shoulders. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

The child didn't respond and instead stared at his palms, turning them over again and again.

"Poor thing mustn't know he's a mage," the other spoke, flicking the blood off his sword and slipped it into its sheath.

"How old are you, lad?" the one knelt down questioned and began to gently rub the boy's back.

"F-five sir." he stuttered, unable to remove his eyes from shaking fingers.

"I'm going to heal your ankle with magic," he informed, hovering his hand just above, "Is that okay?"

The boy nodded, still flexing fingers. He grunted as his attention turned to the white hot light that glided down his leg. He wasn't sure if it was painful or soothing as the bone knit together and set into place, but as soon as the discomfort presented itself, it disappeared. He glanced over at the healer that drew his arms upwards, beckoning the light back into his hands at the end of the spell's cast.

"Brent, take him home." The leader ordered and spun tossing his black cape, causing the griffin heraldry to seem to flap its wings. "We'll finish things up here."

The mage nodded and took the child's hand, guiding him in the opposite direction.

They arrived far sooner than Anders hoped, feeling reluctant to return especially in the care of authority. He really should have listened to mother. It's just she and father had told him so many stories about the Grey Wardens that he merely wanted to see them in person and maybe even catch a glimpse of magic. His chest tightened. He got to see magic alright. Anders swallowed watching the Grey Warden knock at the entrance.

The door burst open and his mother instantly swung her arms around him. She sobbed into the crook of the boy's neck, as fresh tears drenched the collar of his shirt. "Oh thank the Maker you're alright!" she exclaimed only to hold him at arms length, scanning for any injuries. Her eyes widened at the splatter of dried blood across his shirt.

"Don't worry. It's not his," the mage spoke, "Although I need to speak to you in private about him."

The woman stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Sabin caught sight of them, dropping his coat and hobbled over on one shoe, caring about nothing else but hugging his son. He dropped to his knees and crushed the boy against himself. "Thank ye for returnin' him to us. I was just 'bout to go searchin' for him."

"You're welcome." The Grey Warden replied and glanced over at the small wooden table and chairs. "Perhaps you should sit down for what I'm about to say."

"Why? What's wrong?" Anders's mother questioned as his father stood up.

The man clamped his mouth shut and held his forehead. He hated to break it to them if they seriously had no idea, especially considering he couldn't sense any magic in either of them.

"Is it the taint?!" the mother gasped.

"No! No...It's not anything like that." he alleviated. The man sighed, realizing he better just get it over with instead of suffering them through any more conclusions. "Your son is a mage."

Silence.

Anders's mother stood there, frozen. Tears halted. Breathing stopped. Eyes unblinking. She crumbled to the floor. A new onslaught of sobs wracked her body as she balled her hand into a fist and began to beat it against the ground. "Not my boy!" No... not my only precious boy!"

"You understand I will have to report him to the Chantry," the man continued, "I will do so first thing tomorrow morning. You have my condolences."

With that, the Grey Warden hastily made his exit. Anders stared at the wood as the door clicked shut and wondered exactly was so wrong. He glanced up at his father for answers and his stomach dropped. His father stared back at him, fear clearly etched across his face.

"Father?" the boy whispered reaching a hand out towards him.

Sabin's pupils dilated. He took a step back.

Tears threatened Anders's eyes as breathing became jagged. Why was he looking at him like that? Why was he backing away from him? What was wrong?!

"S-Stay away from me, mage!"

Hot tears seared the boy's face as they blurred his vision. His mother shot up and sprung in-between them. "How can you say that to him?! He's only a child! _Our _child!" she screamed.

"A mage is no son of mine!" he spat back.

Anders fled upstairs. He slammed the door to his room shut and dived onto his bed. Why? What was happening? What was so wrong about being a mage? Wasn't grandfather one? The boy clutched a pillow to his chest and tucked himself into a ball. He winced at the volume of his parents arguing and curled his fingers along the embroidery of the cover, wondering when they'd stop. The screaming went on for hours. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. Why did he have to be so stupid and sneak away? None of it was worth it!

The door to his room swung open. Anders snapped his head up. His mother brushed the moisture from her face and clutched onto his shoulders painfully. "I won't lose you!" she proclaimed, "I won't let them take you!"

"Mother, I don't understand."

"Listen. We are going to go somewhere very far away."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Hawke offered as she leaned forward in her chair, wishing to break the gap between them.

"There's nothing for you to apologize for." Anders replied with his eyes fixated upon the pages at his desk. He fanned them out with an open palm, revealing some notes he had scribbled down earlier. "It's more unfortunate that it's so commonplace of a response. I hope my efforts will do something to be able to change that."

"I know it will." Hawke assured and squeezed his hand. She studied his face, ever turned away, and listened to his breath stop. Her own wavered as she relished the feel of his warm skin against hers, wishing he wouldn't withdraw it away from her so soon like he always did.

Anders closed his eyes. Hawke... He held the air in his lungs, willing his body not to tremble under her touch that drove him so many different kinds of mad. It was the innocence, the simplicity. She merely wanted to reach out to him, but he was too far gone for anyone's grasp now no matter how hard she tried. If they had met just a year earlier, before... No. He didn't want to think on that. That life, that part of him was over. His life no longer was just his and now belonged not only to Justice but all the mages whose cries for freedom were left unanswered. He couldn't involve her in all this. Between the Templars, Grey Wardens, and inevitably the Darkspawn themselves chasing him down, he only had time to focus on one thing and that time was very limited. What did he have? Twenty-five years at best? Five if he was unlucky? Tomorrow even? No...she deserved someone whose life and dedication wasn't already spent. He untangled his fingers from hers.

Hawke's brows furrowed, wondering if he'd send her away. Perhaps it was too bold of her to reach out to him physically, but after all that he'd spoken of, she just couldn't help but to want to touch him, latch onto him, and let him know that she was there. She had a feeling he'd been through much worse. "Do you want to tell me more?" She questioned. "What happened when you moved to Lothering?"

"Things...got out of hand," he responded.

* * *

The twelve-year-old struck the rock in the middle of the dirt road with his boot and watched as it splashed and sunk into a pile of mud. Mud. Mud. Mud! It was everywhere! He thought he'd been sick and tired of snow from The Anderfels but he found he somehow missed the endless white that now was exchanged for the brown gunk that seemed to stretch on forever and only ended in placement of crops or dirty stone buildings. It made him constantly want to take a bath, unsure if it really was always mud or perhaps something else with the constant smell of dog-shit wafting in the air. But it was home. And it was better than being inside. Inside only encouraged his chances of running into his father or mistakenly eavesdropping in on an argument that was almost always about him. It was unpleasant. He liked to avoid unpleasant.

Anders trudged forward, as the soles of his boots finally tasted grass and plopped himself onto a nearby rock. He gazed up into the blue sky, trying to discern recognizable shapes out of the clouds, as he waited for time to pass when it would be eventually safe to return or his mother would come fetch him. But until then, he'd rather remain out of earshot.

"Hey girlie, I thought we told you this is our rock," another boy amongst a group around his age shouted as they steadily approached.

Anders's brow twitched. Not these morons again. He didn't know who amongst them was the worst: their idiot leader Thomas, who just seemed to follow and harass him no matter where he settled outside in the fields, Peter with the short fuse, or Rowan that provided the muscle. It rather escaped Anders as to why they listened to Thomas in the first place, considering he was nothing but a loud-mouth bean-pole, but then who was he to judge? He just wished they'd leave him alone.

If it wouldn't get him punched in the face again, he'd tease them about how they had such a crush on him, ever so angry and confused as to how to deal with their feelings. That was a good one! The look on their faces surely was worth the week of bruising and the week of peace the comment brought, however today he felt rather attached to his teeth.

"Oh right! I'm sorry!" Anders apologized yet couldn't help the next sentence from slipping, "I always forget Mabari are territorial."

"Are you callin' us dogs?" Peter in the middle shouted as he reached over and yanked on Anders's collar.

"Wait, you're right I take it back." He held his hands up in submission as a smile curled upon his lips, "That might be rather insulting to the poor beasts."

"Shut up!" the boy shouted and shoved Anders to the ground. "Don't make us kick the sod out of you, like last time!"

"And here I thought we were just becoming good friends," Anders sighed brushing the grass and dirt off his elbows. "It's simply a miscommunication! Tell you what, why don't you just post where and when you'll be so I can avoid it. Although that _does_ requires writing..."

Rowan gritted his teeth and replied with his fist to the boy's stomach. Anders coughed, doubling over only to be met with another blow to the face. His vision blurred as white flecks further distorted his view of the other two boys coming closer. Anders crashed his own punch into Thomas's jaw and swung to deliver another, but Rowan caught it. Peter grabbed him from behind and knocked his balance as he dragged him backwards.

"Oh how tough you lot are! Why don't you fight me one on one!" Anders taunted, thrashing his body as much as he could, to try and wriggle away from the boy's grasp. The hands around him clamped tighter.

"You just don't know when to shut up, do you?" Thomas snapped.

Anders opened his mouth to reply, but the punch knocked the words from his mouth and slapped him into unconsciousness.

.

.

He'd no idea how long he'd been out. Fingers tangled into bits of what felt like straw as he tried to drag his limbs to his aching stomach only for rope to bite his wrists and ankles. His jaw stung as a groan escaped his lips and the familiar copper tang of blood whispered against his tongue as he dragged it along his teeth to check if the bones were all still in place. At least that seemed intact, he mused and pried open his eyes.

"Well look who decided to wake up!" Thomas mocked, as Anders stared at his boots and then cranked his eyes up to look at the boy's ugly mug. His captor leaned down, a smile stretching across his face as lines of light overcast and shadowed his view from the barn's wooden walls.

Anders flinched as his ears registered a metallic clink and closed an eye at the sudden shine of the withdrawn object. He stared at the dagger and swallowed.

"We're going to teach you a lesson, girlie!" the leader declared, and gestured for the others to come closer. "Hold him down."

"What are you doing?!" he gasped as he struggled to kick his legs against Peter. Rowan snatched Anders's tied wrists and slammed face into the dirt, eliciting a cry at the snapped cartilage in his nose. He didn't expect this. Sure they were fools, but not violent fools. Were they honestly going to hurt him, kill him even?!

"I said hold him down!" Thomas snapped and ripped at Anders's generous length of hair, causing him to arch his neck back and expose his throat. No surely, no! The boy's heart shrieked as adrenaline burst through his veins. He thrashed, rocking the two boys, nearly off with new found strength but they held him fast. Thomas prepared the blade and swung.

"Shit!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"What in the void did you do?!"

"You were only supposed to cut his hair, you blighted idiot! You sodding stabbed him!"

"And you were supposed to hold him down! If you did your job this wouldn't have happened!"

"Oh Maker... did we-did we kill him?"

Talking. He could hear it, or at least he thought there was... Was there? He couldn't discern the difference in their voices. It all sounded the same. Muffled. Barely audible. The pumping in his veins screamed in his ears at each crash of his heart beating, louder, faster, deafening. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything except the thickening of the sticky warmth of his life free-flowing out of him and the icy intrusion of the blade jammed straight through his neck.

Ba-bump.

He stared, transfixed upon the planks of the barn unable to even summon the will to alter his gaze.

Ba-bump.

His vision faded, failing...

Ba-bump.

Screaming! The ropes on his wrists snapped. The power! Oh Maker so much power... he couldn't... where...? Fingers latched onto the handle of the blade. Heat. Heat. Screaming. Maker, was it even human?! Where was it coming from? Make it stop! Make it stop! Rip. Pull. Snap...! The dagger clattered to the floor. Air! He could breathe! His lungs filled with smoke. Anders coughed, doubling over, wondering when he started to stand in the first place. His hand stroked his throat as his eyes shot wide. All of it perfect. Smooth. Where was the puncture?

There wasn't time to think. His eyes stung and watered at the clouds of gray, surrounding him. His feet faltered as he stumbled backwards against the blast of flames. The fire threatened his ankles, commanding his retreat as he choked and hacked jagged air. His back hit the wall. Anders spun. His fist slammed into the wood. The fire spilled, engulfing the floor. His boots began to smoke. NO! Kick. Kick. KICK!

He splattered to the grass. A gush of cold air whooshed through his hair and froze the sweat on his skin. His hands pushed flat upon the ground between the splinters and he sprung himself froward. He sprinted and propelled straight into Rowan, causing him to bounce backwards onto the dirt.

Rowan's face desaturated of color. He retracted a step. "You...should be dead! What in the void are you?!"

Anders's lips parted, his voice lost to him. His gaze slipped past the boy to the villagers gathered, witnessing the sight of the building being swallowed up in the flames. Peter's mother held a hand to her mouth as she tore her eyes away and her husband soothed a hand across her shoulders. Sabin parted through the crowd. His eyes attached to his son and the roof collapsed. Anders turned around.

"No!" he shouted and snatched Rowan's collar. "Where are the other two? Are they still in there?!"

His silence answered him. Anders's mouth fell along with his grip on the boy's shirt.

"Ye killed them."

Anders snapped his head up at the accusation. His father stared at him, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I-"

"Ye killed them!" he shouted.

"I didn't! I don't know what happened! I-"

"This boy is a mage!" he announced, a finger of accusation pointed straight at him. The crowd gasped. Their eyes widened as they stared upon him and their prattles of inaudible whispers crawled beneath Anders's skin. The boy tore his gaze away, unable to take the sight of their fear, hate, disgust.

Why?! He stared directly at his father. What was he doing? Why did he betray him?! Mother had done so much to protect this secret and now he just threw everything away! The Templars were going to take him! He'd be locked away forever! He didn't cause that fire... did he?

Anders threw his vision to his hands, smeared with blood and grasped the red soaked shirt draped upon him now moist and cold. He sucked in a breath. The wound from before was gone but the evidence was clear. Rowan was right. He should be dead.

Iron gauntlets seized his shoulders. Anders shot his gaze up. Templar.

"I didn't mean it!" he screamed and struggled against the man's grasp. "Mother! Help me, mother!"

"Relax now, boy. We're going to take you somewhere safe," he replied.

"Liar! Liar!" he accused over and over as another Templar withdrew a set of shackles. The one behind him forced his arms forward and the metal latched onto his wrists that were so small, so fragile, they almost slipped off.

"Why father?! Why!" Anders cried, chest heaving.

"I can't do it anymore, son." Sabin exhaled, moisture threatening to fall from his lids, "I can't keep goin' against the wishes of our Maker, of Andraste. Look at what I've allowed to happen. I won't harbor a monster any longer."

Monster. Monster... The condemnation echoed inside of Anders, coiling around his throat, sucking the air from his lungs, worming its way inside of his heart. Monster. The tears tumbled as his knees did the same. He stared blankly, devoid of anything and everything. He couldn't feel. The chaos around him felt miles away, surreal. He saw his mother dashing towards him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

She was crying. She was saying something. The Templars and her were arguing. None of it mattered. Nothing could be reversed or changed. He was going to be taken to The Circle and right now he wasn't so sure it was something he should even be running from anymore. Maybe his father was right all along. Perhaps the fear and hate he received from him daily had all been justified. He didn't mean for this to happen. He didn't try to summon the flames this time or the last. He had been able to suppress it. He thought he was okay, but when the blood started flowing the mana inside of him magnified and the power completely overwhelmed his ability to stifle it. He couldn't control it. If he could, then everything would be okay. Everyone would be safe. There needn't be a reason to lock him away. He just needed control!

* * *

Control. It meant everything. It was the number one reason why the mages were allowed to be imprisoned in the first place without question. People were afraid and they had reason. Anders knew that more than anyone. The power inside him could kill, intentionally or unintentionally but at the same time it had the potential to save, to help, to heal. He tried to dedicate his life to that, to show people that magic wasn't always all bad. The problem was that people were afraid. It was the fear that forced mages to hide, to not understand how to control themselves because they couldn't ask for help without being locked away. If they could stay in control, they could coexist, but no one was willing to relinquish that kind of trust and responsibility. In the end, they were only human, but it was all the more reason to allow them that chance, that right, to live free.

He ought write that down, he mused, as his hand itched for the quill. He turned his gaze to Hawke and flashed her a smile. "Thank you for listening," he began, "But perhaps I've kept you too long. I'm sure you've got better things to do and I should get back to my manifesto."

"You're welcome," she exhaled, not really feeling like she'd helped him at all, but his mood had lightened significantly she noted. Her brows furrowed as she followed him towards the exit and watched him unlatch the lock. He cracked open the door with a heavy yank, causing a gush of the sea-breeze to flood inside.

She looked up at him, watching the wind stir his hair and gazed into his eyes, overcome with the urge to say _something_. She couldn't undo his past, but she couldn't get over all the things his father had told him. Things she was sure others had echoed in turn and still continued to say with the constant prejudice surrounding him. It bothered her that people thought those things and even spoke them out loud, but what ate at her more was the fact he probably believed it partly himself.

"You're a _good man_, Anders."

His brows shot up, taken aback by the sudden statement. What was she on about? Her blue eyes clung onto him, narrowed in sincerity. His hand slipped from the door frame and outstretched towards her, tracing the line of her smooth delicate jaw, until his fingers settled upon her chin. He cupped it between his fingers and thumb, gently guiding her to tilt it upwards. He stepped forward and merely gazed down at her. This woman...

She didn't seem real. He'd never met anyone who wasn't a mage offer him such acceptance and understanding. It made him crazy. She flooded, his thoughts, his dreams, his desires. So many nights he agonized and tortured himself upon the idea of feeling her, touching her. He yearned to press his mouth to hers now and put an end to the sweet torment, finally making the fantasy a reality. He lowered his face close to hers and shuddered. Her breath heated the parched skin of his lips and he nearly pushed forward to devour everything she allowed of him.

However he remembered his place. With a long, stuttering sigh he stepped back as fingers slid their length away against the tiny area of skin he dared to touch. So little seemed to burn him so much.

"Goodnight," he rasped.

Hawke shakily bid her farewell and Anders closed the door behind her. He pressed his back against the wood and slid to the floor. He was never going to sleep...

* * *

_a/n: Hope you guys like it so far. Any suggestions or comments are welcome :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Last time: Anders tells Hawke how his powers manifested and the tragedy with the barn fire he caused which forced his father to send him to The Circle. Later, Anders comes dangerously close to kissing Hawke but stopped at the last minute._

_a/n: I'd like to give a big thanks to the people kind enough to give reviews, favs, and/or follows. It is deeply appreciated. _

* * *

**The Scars that Made Me**

**Chapter 3**

It wasn't much of a surprise to him that he didn't have a restful night. In fact, he couldn't recall a time when his sleep was sound ever since that year in solitary confinement, never mind the exacerbation from the Grey Warden nightmares, but some times were better than others. Last night wasn't. He'd too much on his mind. His head kept spinning from one thought to the next and all of it left a constant dull ache behind his eyes. Anders rubbed his face as he waited in line at Lirene's shop, trying to smooth away the pain and dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you feeling okay?" Lirene expressed her concern once he stood before her and she ducked behind the counter to retrieve his usual supplies.

"I'm fine." he assured.

Lirene's mouth creased back, completely unconvinced as she plopped the box onto the counter, and Anders immediately plucked the lyrium from it. He swung his head back to down the whole thing in one go and grimaced as the bitter taste assaulted his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head as if he just taken a shot of liquor and smacked the empty bottle onto the counter.

"Are you sure?" she questioned as her fingers wrapped around the glass and placed it aside.

He didn't answer. Instead he hovered a hand before his face and with a quick flick of the wrist, he cast a tiny rejuvenation spell. Energy rushed back into his senses, flooding away the telltale signs of his insomnia, a habit he wasn't sure he could break, considering it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing from exhaustion. It seemed as natural as drinking coffee in the morning to him, but probably not as healthy. He doubted that he'd live long enough to see its long-term effects though, so bothering to even try to stop seemed pointless. It got him through today and that was all that mattered.

"Yup, I'm good," he finally replied to her, snagging the extra lyrium bottle in her hand and replaced it with a sovereign. "Keep the change for the refugees." He told her and tucked the rest of the items in his pack. He spun around and nearly smacked into the man behind him.

"Sor..." his voice died.

It was his father.

"Sorry!" Anders sputtered, ducking his head low and bolted out of shop. His strides lengthened as he slipped through the crowd into the market place of the streets and dodged through the incoming traffic of people. He pressed his back against the stone of one of the buildings, closed his eyes and exhaled the air in his lungs. What was this? Why now all of a sudden? He'd never bumped into the man before and now it seemed he haunted everywhere he went!

Anders stared back at the entrance to the shop, catching sight of the unmistakable blonde hair exiting. His feet started moving and before he realized it, he was following him. Stupid. But he couldn't seem to stop, couldn't leave well enough alone. No, he needed it. Needed answers. Needed to know what he had to say for himself. Needed to see Mother.

Anders slowed his pace as he rounded the corner into the residential district and leaned against the wall, just out of sight. A young man sat on the steps of the house Sabin approached and he laid his hand on his shoulder briefly before making his way to the entrance. Anders's heart skipped a beat. Could that...could that be a brother? It had been over fifteen years since that time and the possibly seemed unmistakable. Anders found his legs puppeting forward. He couldn't take it. He had to know.

"Sabin!" Anders called and the elder halted just before opening the latch on the door.

The man narrowed his eyes and trotted down the steps, closing the gap between the two. "Can I help ye, Messere?" he questioned, "Were them coppers not enough? I can give ye mor-"

"No...no..." Anders shook his head and the words seemed to catch in his throat. What was he even going to ask? Perhaps he should just turn back. "I-"

"Father, I'm gonna go see if mum needs help with cookin'!" the one on the steps spoke up and bounded inside the house.

Anders's stared at him. The same blonde hair, same brown eyes, same nose, gestures, movement all of it... there was no doubt about it. He was his brother. He was family... Anders held a hand to his brow almost dizzy at the notion. He lowered his head and pinned his eyes shut, struggling to fight the moisture welling.

"Ye alright there, lad?" Sabin asked him and placed his hands onto the feathers in Anders's pauldron.

He held his breath. He couldn't breathe. The idea of it all forced his heart to clutch his lungs far too tight. He hadn't expected this. Here in this house, in front of him was family, _his_ family. He swallowed the torment gathering in his throat. Was there a point to it all when he knew he couldn't be with them any longer, even if they accepted him and he wanted to? That life had already been lost to him, but he was so close to it... Just hugging Mother one last time would be enough for him.

Glassy eyes gripped the elder man as Anders struggled not to blink and his words strained to produce a whisper. "Did you never stop to think what ever happened to your eldest son?"

Sabin's eyes widened. His lips parted as he watched the young man rip his attention away with eyes almost eerily aglow in their bloodshot gaze. Anders retracted a step, slipping away from his father's grasp and inhaled one weighted breath after the next. There was no going back now. Just what would he say?

"Maker..." Sabin gasped, as the revelation slowly hit him. "Andrew...?"

"That's not who I am anymore!" Anders snapped at the sound of his real name grating his ears, "That boy died a long time ago when you decided to betray me to the Templars!"

"I didn't betray ye, son!"

"Don't!" Anders hissed, "Don't you dare call me that! You lost the right to do so, when The Circle took me or did you forget how they told you and Mother I'm no longer your child?!"

"I didn't forget!" Sabin argued as his brows furrowed further, trying to close the distance but his son recoiled. "What would ye have me do instead? I couldn't help ye 'nother way!"

"So what...You decided branding your son a monster was better? Wrongly accusing me of murder in front of the whole village was the less hurtful choice?! Oh this is good! What's next? You're going to tell me you love me?"

"I never stopped!"

"Shut up!" Anders screamed and took in a sharp breath as he clenched his fists. He heaved, holding his forehead, trying to calm himself. He needed to keep it together. He couldn't allow his emotions to flicker his eyes right now. Not in broad daylight, not in public, not in front of his father who was scared of him as it was.

"I can only tell ye, I knows I should've done things different," Sabin sighed. "Maker knows I made so many mistakes, but I can't change it now. I didn't know what to do. I was angry and scared. I wanted to give ye to The Circle so theys could take proper care of ye, because I knew I couldn't. But yer mum didn't agree. I don't know what was right."

"Save it," Anders growled. "I'm tired of hearing your excuses. I want to speak to Mother."

Sabin pinned his mouth shut. He sagged as the air deflated from his lungs and placed his hand on his hip as he began to pace. Anders eyes narrowed, watching him plunk down upon one of the steps. What was he doing?

"Sit down, Andrew." Sabin suggested as Anders flinched upon hearing his name again.

"No. No..." he echoed with dread beginning to coil around his legs. His father's silence only furthered its infestation, rooting him in place.

"I don't want to tell ye this," he began, but Anders could already predict where this was going. "She... died a long time ago."

Anders's eyes slid shut, his breath unchanged. His face emptied of expression and he questioned far too calmly, "How?"

Sabin fidgeted nervously and raked a hand through his hair with a long sigh. "Listen, son. Just let it go. She died. Ye don't need to-"

"HOW!" he demanded.

Sabin cringed at the volume and swallowed. Anders didn't know what he was going to break to him that he'd need to keep it a secret. Was it something that would anger him? Was he afraid of that? Or was it something he caused or did...? Did she perhaps die horribly? Did the Darkspawn take her? Or was it the Templars?! The notion of them nearly vaporized his hold on the fraying rope of his emotions. If it was them, he wouldn't know what he'd do. They had already taken so much.

Sabin exhaled and finally answered, "A few weeks after ye were taken to The Circle, she... killed herself."

Blue consumed Anders's eyes as his legs collapsed. His hands slapped over his face, struggling desperately to conceal the flash of light he slipped, but he didn't think he could hold it any longer. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus. Breathe. Breathe! The air wasn't enough! He gasped over and over as his heart sprinted faster with each inhale. The emotions crushed his chest and the more he tried to fight their release, the more they squeezed.

No! Damn it. He couldn't control it! Anders clutched his head as he felt Justice pick up his legs and everything faded to black.

* * *

Cold stone greeted his senses, freezing the skin on his face. He could hear music, talking... was that laughing? Anders groaned, plucking his head up and dragged his arms towards himself, scraping them on the rough texture as he adjusted in his seat. He opened his eyes and he stared blankly at the table before him.

"Feelin' better there, Blondie?" the dwarf asked from the other side, shuffling cards.

Anders propped his elbows on the table and laid his forehead into his hands. Why was he in Varric's room at the Hanged Man? What had happened? He was talking to his father and then-

'I brought you somewhere safe, friend.' the spirit whispered inside his mind and the memories of his actions flooded back into him. Anders sighed, relieved to find out Justice only ran straight here and nothing else. Being out of control, bothered him something fierce. Justice didn't always understand the appropriate response to situations nor had any idea of the concept of self-control. It was always feel, then act, and think about the consequences later which always fell into his lap not Justice's. It wasn't easy for Anders to explain things to the spirit. Human behavior isn't very logical and one can't always act upon the idea of justice, whatever that truly is. What really is the difference between that and vengeance? It seemed he didn't always understand the spirit either.

'Thank you,' Anders responded back to him in his thoughts. 'The whole thing was a stupid idea anyway. I don't know what I was thinking.'

'It is understandable. I too felt something similar when trying to reach out to Aura. I have come to believe the correct path is not always clear when trying to set things right in your world. We can only make an honest attempt at what is best.'

'Perhaps you're right, Justice.' he replied, contemplating his words. Either way, avoiding putting himself in that situation again seemed like a good idea. He didn't need to induce another panic attack and risk fainting like that again. It was far too risky. If a Templar or even one of the guards-

"Hey! Blondie, I'm talking to you! You hear me?" Varric called. He paused his shuffling and tilted his head, trying to get a better view of the mage's face. "...Justice?"

"It's me, Varric." Anders finally answered and slid his hands from his face back to the stone. "I'm sorry... I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"I can tell. You want to talk about it? I'm all ears if you need it."

"I appreciate it, but I'm fine." He replied, although he wasn't quite sure that was the case anymore. Too many people were asking him that today.

"Tell something then." Varric interrupted his thoughts, "Aren't your eyes are supposed to glow when Justice is out? When he came in here, I thought it was you at first. I was pretty surprised when he corrected me, to say the least. You hiding something about all that, Blondie?"

"No, I... it's complicated." Anders stumbled, wondering how to put it all into simple terms. "I told you before, he and I are one. Sometimes the control shifts, but it's always us together. We share mutual thoughts and feelings as well as separate ones. The 'glowing-thing' as you put it, is something else. It has more to do with our emotions, like with any magic, but this is much stronger. I'm trying to work on controlling and tapping into this power a little more but it's not easy. It's harder to control than blood magic and I'm afraid I don't know that much about it..." He trailed off and leaned his head into his shaky hands once again. "I'm sorry. This probably all sounds crazy."

"Hey don't worry about it!" Varric dismissed with a smile and tapped the deck of cards straight, "Kirkwall's a magnet for strange and everyone else around here is too drunk to notice. So, how about I buy you a pint? Or maybe dinner?"

"No thanks, although water would be nice." Anders requested and straightened in his chair as the corner of his lips perked a little at the release of tension. He'd never been more glad for Varric's acceptance right now.

"C'mon! You're telling me you're not hungry?" the dwarf urged, reaching for the jug off to the side and began to pour a glass, "You're nothing but skin and bones! Or is it you just don't want to spoil your appetite for Hawke?"

Anders's brows shot up. "That's -!"

"What? You think I wouldn't notice?" he remarked and plunked down the drink before him. "She pays you a visit almost everyday. Enlighten me, Blondie. I know something is going on between you two."

Anders stared down at his cup, watching the water swish back and forth, wondering if talking about it was really such a good idea. He tried so hard to deny his own feelings as well as hers, and wanted nothing more than to pretend it never existed, but speaking about it openly was entirely something else. He didn't want to make things worse and most of all didn't want her to know how he felt. If she did, she'd only pursue him more. Besides, it wasn't what Varric thought anyway. The most Hawke and him ever did was briefly hold hands. He didn't even want to think what he almost did last night... with those lips that teased and taunted with their little pouts, pleas and promises to submit to the domination of his mouth over hers.

Anders snatched up the glass and swallowed up the water in one swig, allowing the cold to snap him from such thoughts before they could develop further. "It's... nothing or rather it should be nothing." he finally admitted.

"And why's that? Does the whole justice thing get in the way of having a love life? And I mean that in more ways than one."

"Actually, I've been meaning to ask you a favor about that."

"Shoot."

"Do you think you can talk to her?" Anders pleaded, smoothing fingers back and forth over his forehead.

Varric smirked and let out a little chuckle. "Oh you don't need me and Bianca to play cupid for you! Hawke's already smitten."

"No." Anders countered, "You don't understand that's the problem."

Varric narrowed his brow with a twitch as a corner of his mouth twisted. "Did you hit your head or something? How is _that _the problem?"

"She shouldn't be with me, that's why. I should have stopped this sooner. I don't know what to do now. I'm such a selfish coward." He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't mean for it all to spiral so much out of control. Truly, he had meant to be more firm with Hawke, but there was just something about that smile of hers that whittled away at all the cracks in his resolve.

"Well, beating yourself up over it, isn't going to do any good, now. Besides, Hawke's a big girl. She can make her own decisions."

"No. You don't understand. You don't know what's going on in my head or what I go through to control this. Please believe me when I tell you this, Varric." he insisted as his voice cracked in earnest, "I am dangerous and unstable! I don't even trust myself!"

"Oh, don't give me that! You're a saint!" the dwarf scoffed with a wave of his hand, "The only thing I ever see you being in danger of is helping people too much for your own good. Enough with the self-sacrifice all the time, Blondie! You need to get out more! Have some fun! Relax! You'll thank me later." he advised with a wink.

"No, I wont. Please Varric, I'm asking you as a friend. Just please say something to her." he pleaded as his eyes clung onto him. "I don't care what you tell her. Lie if you must. I don't care."

"Alright, alright! I get it. I'll do it." Varric caved, holding his hands up, "But you know I can be pretty convincing. You going to be okay when she's with someone else?"

"No. I know I won't." he confessed with his face downcast. Truly, it would be the most painful thing in the world to watch another hold those strong yet delicate fingers of hers. Fingers that belonged intertwined with his, fingers that he would press to his lips, kissing each and every one, if he allowed himself. He'd glide his tongue along the length of one, daring to lick, nip, and claim his way to her wrist that he knew was sensitive from their brief brushes before. He'd make her shiver. He'd make her shudder. He'd make her moan. He'd give her pleasure that he knew no one else could ever even begin to offer with the simplest of gestures. But... it was not his place. In the end it would be better for them both this way and it would be better if he'd stop tormenting himself with these thoughts, he realized with a sigh.

"Anyways," Anders began and stood up, "I've probably already made myself enough of a nuisance and I really ought to return to my clinic. Just...thank you Varric for all your help."

"Anytime, Blondie." he responded, "Like I always say, feel free to come by whenever you want, use my tab or even rest your crazy possessed head upon my pillow if you need it. You don't bother me one bit."

Anders chuckled and flashed his teeth at the man before heading out as he waved goodbye. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilty. Both Varric and Hawke were better friends than he deserved and no matter how many times he protested at their charity, they simply ignored him and did him more favors. He wasn't stupid. He knew Varric paid off The Coterie to keep the gangs in the under city off his back and he knew Hawke did the same with more than a few Templars and pulled strings with her connections in the guard to keep quiet about the blatantly open apostate in Darktown.

He could never offer anything of real substance in return. His freedom meant everything to him, more than they could possibly begin to know or understand. Sure he patched their wounds and saved their lives on more than one occasion, but then so did they for him. Maybe they were simply grateful for his aid in the Deep Roads when he saved Bethany's life and risked that very freedom he cherished so deeply. Whatever it was, it left him feeling more indebted to them than he felt comfortable with. Maybe he just wasn't used to someone having his back for a change.

He'd have to come up with something, he promised himself and pushed the door to his clinic open, only to stop short at the sight of a note that was stuffed in the crack sliding to the floor. He nabbed it between his fingers and made his way over to the desk to read.

_Good Doctor,_

_I am redirecting your patients to my location for the week. Please take this time off to rest. I cannot allow you to operate your clinic to the point it endangers your own health. We will be fine without you as we can finally make use of the donated bandages, potions, and poultices we've been stocking up on because of your charity. I will not take no for an answer. Do not come here to offer aid or you will be escorted out for your own good. _

_Please take it easy,_

_L_

Anders folded the letter and plopped down in his chair with a sigh, wondering exactly what he would do with that extra time. His eyes caught the mess of his Manifesto sprawled about the workspace and he cast the note aside. Perhaps it was a perfect time for that, but his writing muse wasn't with him after all that had happened. He felt tired, drained, yet didn't think he could sleep. Maybe Lirene and Varric were right. Perhaps he just needed to relax for a bit, but what exactly would he _do_ in that time? It's not like he had a lot of money to spare and every object surrounding him was merely a means for more work.

The tap of knuckles against the door startled his attention and when his eyes fell upon Hawke he nearly choked. It was though someone had plucked her from one of his fantasies seeing her in _that_ outfit of hers, standing right here in his clinic with her hair slightly tousled. The red velvet wrapped around her body ever so snug, revealing the silhouette of her curves that he longed to trace with fingers instead of eyes. He tried to hold his gaze there. Any lower and he'd be forced to drink in the sight of her creamy thighs peeking through the end of the fabric, before sinking back into those tight knee-high boots. That strip of skin... Maker, it assaulted his thoughts on so many restless nights. He couldn't keep track of how many times he spent himself just imagining how soft, silky and supple they'd feel as he'd snake his hands between them and smooth them apart.

It took him a moment to realize she probably hadn't trudged all the way through Darktown like that and used the secret passage in her cellar just right outside his door, but it still didn't rattle his senses any less. Maybe he was just overreacting. It's not like he hadn't seen a naked woman before or one wearing such skimpy things with Isabella prancing around in what he was sure was more of a shirt than it was a dress. But it was different with Hawke. When she wore clothing with all the layers of armor peeled away and stripped back she just seemed so much more vulnerable. Touchable.

He blinked, realizing he was just sitting there gaping at her. Andraste's knickers he needed to say something! Anders coughed and cleared his throat. "Oh hello, Hawke. I wasn't expecting you. What can I do for you?" he greeted.

"What can't you do for me?" she joked with a wink, sending Anders's gaze flying to the floor. "Actually, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come over for dinner." she offered.

He opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off before he could reply. "Don't worry, it's just me. Mother is going to be away the next few days on some shopping trip to Starkhaven."

Why did that not reassure him? It was true, he didn't like to visit when Leandra was there. She always had that protective, judging glare about her and he can't say that he blamed her. He'd glare at himself too if he could. But the idea of him _alone _with Hawke at her house...No. That didn't sit well with him. At the clinic it was different. There was always a chance for a patient to interrupt. Plus the howling and screaming of the gangs fighting in the streets weren't exactly a serenade. Anders held his head, wondering how to worm his way out of this one without seeming rude.

"I'm sorry but I'm not hungry." he lied and as soon as the words escaped from his mouth his stomach growled in protest at the idea of denying food.

She laughed. "Well I don't think your body seems to agree."

That wasn't the only thing his body didn't agree with. "Well... I..." he stumbled.

"Don't worry!" she assured, taking a few more steps into the clinic. "You're not troubling me or I wouldn't have asked. Besides I got something I want to show you, that I think you'll want to see."

Oh there was lots of things of hers he wanted to see, he remarked to himself. "I don't know..." he hedged.

"Come on!" Hawke urged and snagged hold of his hands with hers, forcing him to stand up.

"But my Manifesto..." he reminded, glancing back at the papers on his desk... the very safe, not-in-danger-of-doing-something-stupid papers.

"Take them with you," she suggested. "I've got a much better writing desk in my library. You can spend the night and write to your heart's content. There's plenty of beds and Maker knows you could use a real one for a change."

Anders clenched his jaw. This was bad. Very, very bad. He scooped up the parchment and pressed the papers to his chest with both arms and pinned his eyes shut with his back facing her still. What in Maker's name was he doing? He just got through, begging and pleading with Varric to convince Hawke to stay away from him and here he was about to follow her back home and most likely set ablaze every last line of defense he tried to muster up between them.

Just tell her no, he demanded of himself. Who cares if she thought him rude? Perhaps it would drive her away, out of his clinic for good. Taking her invitation was nothing but folly! At this point it didn't seem he really had a choice in the matter. No matter which way he looked at it, Hawke had grown attached to him. The more he let this go on, the harder it was going to be to pull away. He needed to stop. He needed to end this right here and now. He'd tell her no. He'd break her heart right here and now. He'd stop pussy-footing around the sodding situation and make her cry if he must! He knew it was better for the both of them. _Just do it._

Anders spun around and stared down, his face hard. She smiled.

"Just for the one night?" he squeaked.

To the void with what anyone said about his willpower. He was a weak, weak man.

* * *

_a/n: I made up Anders's real name. I didn't want to deviate too much from the original. I hope it's alright. I struggled to finish this chapter today since I wanted to be able to update pretty regularly, so I hope it's not too rushed. Anyways, more flashbacks to come. Please tell me what you think. :)_


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